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COPYRIGHT DEPOSnV 



INTRODUCTION, 



New Year's Day at Asolo in the 
Trevisan. 

A large, mean, airy chamber. A 

girl, PippA, from the silk-mUls, 

springing out of bed. 

Day! 

Faster and more fast, 

O'er night's brim, day boils at last : 

Boils, pure gold, o'er the cloud-cup's 

brim 
Where spurting and suppressed it 

lay. 
For not a froth-flake touched the 

rim 
Of yonder gap in the soKd gray 
Of the eastern cloud, an hour away ; 
But forth one wavelet, then another, 

curled, 
TiU the whole sunrise, not to be 

suppressed. 
Rose, reddened, and its seething 

breast 
Flickered in bounds, grew gold, then 

overflowed the world. 



Oh, Day, if I squander a wavelet of 

thee, 
A mite of my twelve-hours' treas- 



ure, 



The least of thy gazes or glances, 
(Be they grants thou art bound to 

or gifts above measure) 
One of thy choices or one of thy 

chances, 
(Be they tasks God imposed thee or 

freaks at thy pleasure) 
— ^My Day, if I squander such labor 

or leisure. 
Then shame fall on Asolo, mischief 



on me 



Thy long blue solemn hours serenely 

flowing. 
Whence earth, we feel, gets steady 

help and good — 
Thy fitful sunshine-minutes, coming, 

going. 
As if earth turned from work in 

gamesome mood — 
All shall be mine! But thou must 

treat me not 
As prosperous ones are treated, 

those who live 
At hand here, and enjoy the higher 

lot. 



In readiness to take what thou wilt 

give, 
And free to let alone what thou 

ref usest ; 
For, Day, my hohday, if thou ill- 

usest 
Me, who am only Pippa — old-year's 

sorrow, 
Cast off last night, will come again 

to-morrow : 
Whereas, if thou prove gentle, I shall 

borrow 
Sufficient strength of thee for new- 
year's sorrow. 
An other men and women that this 

earth 
Belongs to, who all days alike 

possess. 
Make general plenty cure particular 

dearth. 
Get more joy one way, if another, 

less: 
Thou art my single day, God lends to 

leaven 
What were all earth else, with a feel 

of heaven — 
Sole light that helps me through the 

year, thy sun's! 
Try now! Take Asolo's Four Hap- 
piest Ones — 
9 



And let thy morning rain on that 

superb 
Great haughty Ottima; can rain 

disturb 
Her Sebald's homage? All the while 

thy rain 
Beats fiercest on her shrub-house 

window-pane 
He will but press the closer, breathe 

more warm 
Against her cheek; how should she 

mind the storm? 
And, morning past, if mid-day shed 

a gloom 
O'er Jules and Phene — ^what care 

bride and groom 
Save for their dear selves ? 'T is 

their marriage-day ; 
And while they leave church and go 

home their way, 
Hand clasping hand, within each 

breast would be 
Sunbeams and pleasant weather spite 

of thee. 
Then, for another trial, obscure thy 

eve 
With mist — will Luigi and his mother 

grieve — 
The lady and her child, unmatched. 



forsooth. 



10 



^^^^^^^^^^^^^mi 




She in her age, as Luigi in his youth, 


m 




For true content? The cheerful 


^TO 




town, warm, close 


^m 


■m 


And safe, the sooner that thou art 


^m 


'Jfwy 


morose. 


^mi 




Receives them. And yet once again, 

out-break 
In storm at night on Monsignor, 

they make 


1 




Such stir about — whom they expect 


^^ 




from Rome 


^^ 




To visit Asolo, his brother's home. 


!^M 


^^m'-K 


And say here masses proper to re- 
lease 
A soul from pain — what storm dares 


1 




hurt his peace? 
Calm would he pray, with his own 


m 


^^ 


thoughts to ward 
Thy thunder off, nor want the angels' 


m 




guard. 


raS 


^m 


But Pippa — ^just one such mischance 


^^ 




would spoil 


^p 




Her day that Ughtens the next 


^p 


ym 


twelvemonth's toil 


^m 


At wearisome silk-winding, coil on 


^m 




coil! 


^M 




And here I let time sHp for naught ! 


^M 




Aha, you foolhardy sunbeam, caught 


^S 




With a single splash from my ewer ! 


^^ 




You that wouldmockthe bestpursuer, 


^ffi 




11 


H 



Was my basin over-deep? 

One splash of water ruins you asleep, 

And up, up, fleet your brilliant 

bits 
Wheeling and counterwheeling. 
Reeling, broken beyond healing : 
Now grow together on the ceiHng ! 
That will task your wits. 
Whoever it was quenched fire first, 

hoped to see 
Morsel after morsel flee 
As merrily, as giddily . . . 
Meantime, what lights my sunbeam 

on, 
Where settles by degrees the radiant 

cripple ? 
Oh, is it surely blown, my martagon? 
New-blown and ruddy as St. Agnes' 

nipple. 
Plump as the flesh-bunch on some 

Turk bird's poll! 
Be sure if corals, branching 'neath 

the ripple 
Of ocean, but there — fairies watch 

unroll 
Such turban-flowers; I say, such 

lamps disperse 
Thick red flame through that dusk 

green universe ! 
I am queen of thee, floweret ! 

12 



And each fleshy blossom 

Preserve I not — (safer 

Than leaves that embower it, 

Or shells that embosom) 

— ^From weevil and chafer? 

Laugh through my pane then ; solicit 

the bee ; 
Gibe him, be sure; and, in midst of 

thy glee. 
Love thy queen, worship me! 

— ^Worship whom else? For am I not, 

this day. 
Whatever I please? What shall I 

please to-day? 
My mom, noon, eve and night — how 

spend my day? 
To-morrow I must be Pippa who 

winds silk, 
The whole year round, to earn just 

bread and milk: 
But this one day, I have leave to go. 
And play out my fancy's fullest 

games ; 
I may fancy all day — and it shall be 

so — 
That I taste of the pleasures, am 

called by the names 
Of the Happiest Four in our Asolo ! 

13 



See ! Up the hillside yonder, through 

the morning, 
Some one shall love me, as the world 

calls love: 
I am no less than Ottima, take warn- 
ing! 
The gardens, and the great stone 

house above. 
And other house for shrubs, all glass 

in front. 
Are mine ; where Sebald steals, as he 

is wont. 
To court me, while old Luca yet re- 
poses : 
And therefore, till the shrub-house 

door uncloses, 
I . . . what now? — give abundant 

cause for prate 
About me — Ottima, I mean — of late, 
Too bold, too confident she'U still 

face down 
The spitefuUest of talkers in our 

town. 
How we talk in the little town below ! 
But love, love, love — there's better 

love, I know! 
This f oohsh love was only day's first 

offer; 
I choose my next love to defy the 

scoffer : 

14 



For do not our Bride ar 

groom sally ■' 
Out of Passagno church at noon? 
Their house looks over Orcana valley : 
Why should not I be the bride as soon 
As Ottima? For I saw, beside, 
Arrive last night that httle bride — 
Saw, if you call it seeing her, one 

flash 
Of the pale snow-pure cheek and 

black bright tresses. 
Blacker than all except the black eye- 
lash; 
I wonder she contrives those lids no 

dresses ! 
— So strict was she, the veil 
Should cover close her pale 
Pure cheeks — a bride to look at and 

scarce touch. 
Scarce touch, remember, Jules! For 

are not such 
Used to be tended, flower-Hke, every 

feature. 
As if one's breath would fray the lily 

of a creature? 
A soft and easy life these ladies lead : 
Whiteness in us were wonderful in- 
deed. 
Oh, save that brow its virgin dim- 



ness, 



15 



"^^^M^^^^e^^^^i^^^M^^^^^ 


^^r^ 


l^^^^^^^^^^^^^i^^^^^Si 


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Keep that foot its lady primness, 


1 




Let those ankles never swerve 


i 


\k^aJ\ 


From their exquisite reserve, 


W^ 


Yet have to trip along the streets 


^ 




like me. 


^ 




All but naked to the knee ! 


^ 




How will she ever grant her Jules a 


m 


^^wVy/' 


bhss 


w 




So startling as her real firsts infant 


M 




kiss? 


m^ 




Oh, no — ^not envy, this ! 


i 


(07ifT^.«; 


— ^Not envy, sure ! — ^f or if you gave 


1 




me 
Leave to take or to refuse, 


i 




In earnest, do you think I'd choose 


w 




That sort of new love to enslave me? 


w 


^^ 


Mine should have lapped me round 


m 


^^ 


from the beginning ; 
As little fear of losing it as winning : 


1 




Lovers grow cold, men learn to hate 


Wj 




their wives. 


m 


'^i/fTiIr? 


And only parents' love can last our 

lives. 
At eve the Son and Mother, gentle 


1 




pair, 


^ 


!^' /^ T 


Commune inside our turret: what 


^ 


^Mk 


prevents 


W 


i^^^ 


My being Luigi? While that mossy 


C 




lair 


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16 


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^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 


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^^^^^r^^^^^^S^i^g^^fM^ 



1 


Of lizards through the winter-time is 


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stirred 


^^ 


n 


With each to each imparting sweet 


^W 


^ 


intents 


i^^ 


1 


For this new-year, as brooding bird 

to bird — 
(For I observe of late, the evening 


1 


w^ 


walk 


'tmk 


m 


Of Luigi and his mother, always ends 


^^ 


fM 


Inside our ruined turret, where they 


^^m 


M) 


talk. 


^^ 


Wi 


Calmer than lovers, yet more kind 


^^ 


w 


than friends) 


^^ 


\X 


— ^Let me be cared about, kept out of 


1^^ 


m 


harm, 
And schemed for, safe in love as with 


m 


^ 


a charm; 


^M\ 


^ 


Let me be Luigi ! If I only knew 


j^^ 


1 


What was my mother's face — my 
father, too! 


ffl 


w 


Nay, if you come to that, best love 


^^ 


wf 


of all 


!^m 


^ 


Is God's ; then why not have God's 


^^ 


^ 


love befall 


^1 


m 


Myself as, in the palace by the 


^S 


B 

m 


Dome, 
Monsignor? — who to-night will bless 


S 


1 


the home 


^^^ 


Of his dead brother; and God bless 


^^ 




in turn 


^^ 


\Vjj 


17 


^m 


^^^^^^^^^^^^^s 



m 


That heart which beats, those eyes 
which mildly burn 




m 


With love for all men ! I, to-night at 
least, 




Ik 


Would be that holy and beloved 




» 


priest. 




m 


Now wait! — even I already seem to 




^M 


share 




^m 


In God's love: what does New-year's 




^m 


hymn declare? 




^^ 


What other meaning do these verses 




1 


bear ? 
All service ranks the same with 




m 


God: 
If now, as formerly he trod 




^m 


Paradise, his presence fills 




^S 


Our earth, each only as God wills 




1 


Can work — God's puppets, best 

and worst. 
Are we; there is no last nor first. 
Say not ''a small event!'' Why 

''small"? 
Costs it more pain than this, ye 

call 




m 


A ''great event,'' should come to 
pass. 




^P 


Than that? Untwine me from the 


^^ 


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mass 




i 


18 


Im^M 


^^^^^^^^^M 





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^^^^^^^^^^^^9 


1 


Of deeds which make up life, one 
deed 


i 


1 


Power shall fall short in or exceed! 
And more of it, and more of it ! — oh, 


i 


1 


yes 
I will pass each, and see their happi- 
ness. 


1 


M 


And envy none — ^being just as great, 
no doubt. 


m 


s 


Useful to men, and dear to God, as 


^m 


1 


they! 
A pretty thing to care about 
So mightily, this single holiday ! 
But let the sun shine ! Wherefore re- 


1 


B 


pine? 
— ^With thee to lead me, Day of 


m 


i& 


mine, 


^^ 


m 


Down the grass path gray with dew, 
Under the pine-wood, blind with 


8 


m 


boughs, 
Where the swallow never flew 


m 


m 


Nor yet cicala dared carouse — 
No, dared carouse. 


m 


1 


IShe enters the street. 


1 


1 


19 


1 


m 


^^^^^^^^^m 


m 





I. MORNING. 

Up the Hillside, inside the Shrub- 
house. Luca's Wife, Ottima, and 
her Paramour, the German Se- 

BALD. 

Sebald. [^sings.'\ 

Let the watching lids wink! 
Daifs ablaze with eyes, think! 
Deep into the night, drink! 

Ottima. Night ? Such may be your 

Rhineland nights, perhaps ; 
But this blood-red beam through the 

shutter's chink 
— We call such light, the morning: 

let us see ! 
Mind how you grope your way, 

though ! How these tall 
Naked geraniums straggle ! Push the 

lattice 
Behind that frame! — Nay, do I bid 

you ? — Sebald, 
It shakes the dust down on me ! Why, 

of course 
The slide-bolt catches. Well, are 

you content, 

20 




Kiss and be friends. 

full morning? 
Oh, don't speak then! 

Seh. Ay, thus it used to be ! 

Ever your house was, I remember, 

shut 
Till mid-day; I observed that, as I 

strolled 
On mornings through the vale here ; 

country girls 
Were noisy, washing garments in the 

brook, 
Hinds drove the slow white oxen up 

the hills : 
But no, your house was mute, would 



ope no eye 



And wisely: you were plotting one 

thing there. 
Nature, another outside. I looked 

up — 
Rough white wood shutters, rusty 

iron bars. 
Silent as death, blind in a flood of 

Hght. 
Oh, I remember! — and the peasants 

laughed 
And said, "The old man sleeps with 

the young wife." 

21 



1 










w 


This house was his, this chair, this 


^^ 


^m 


window — ^his. 




ffi 


Otti. Ah, the clear morning! I 




1 


can see Saint Mark's ; 
That black streak is the belfry. 




Stop : Vicenza 


5^^v^ 


mm 


Should lie . . . there's Padua, plain 


gg^^^ 


m 


enough, that blue! 
Look o'er my shoulder, follow my 


^^raJ 


s 


finger ! 




^» 


Seb. Morning? 




^m 


It seems to me a night with a sun 




m 


added. 
Where's dew, where's freshness? 




mm 


That bruised plant, I bruised 




m 


In getting through the lattice yester- 
eve. 




^m 


Droops as it did. See, here's my 




^^ 


elbow's mark 




^S 


r the dust o' the sill. 




H 


Otti. Oh, shut the lattice, pray ! 
Seb. Let me lean out. I cannot 




l^p 


scent blood here. 




B 


Foul as the morn may be. 

There, shut the world out! 




8 


How do you feel now, Ottima ? There, 
curse 


^^8 


^m 


m 


The world and all outside! Let us 
throw off 




1 


22 




^^^^^^^^^K 





This mask: how do you bear your- 
self? Let's out 
With all of it! 

Otti. Best never speak of it. 
Seb. Best speak again and yet 
again of it, 
Till words cease to be more than 

words. "His blood," 
For instance — let those two words 

mean, "His blood" 
And nothing more. Notice, I'll say 

them now, 
"His blood." 

Otti. Assuredly if I repented 
The deed— 

Seb. Repent.? Who should repent, 
or why.'^ 
What puts that in your head? Did 

I once say 
That I repented? 

Otti, No ; I said the deed . . . 
Seb. "The deed" and "the event" 
— ^just now it was 
"Our passion's fruit" — the devil take 

such cant ! 
Say, once and always, Luca was a 

wittol, 
I am his cut-throat, you are . . . 
Otti. Here's the wine ; 

23 



I brought it when we left the house 
above. 

And glasses too — ^wine of both sorts. 
Black? White then? 
Seb. But am I not his cut-throat? 

What are you? 
Otti. There trudges on his busi- 
ness from the Duomo 

Benet the Capuchin, with his brown 
hood 

And bare feet; always in one place 
at church. 

Close under the stone wall by the 
south entry. 

I used to take him for a brown cold 
piece 

Of the wall's self, as out of it he rose 

To let me pass — at first, I say, I 
used: 

Now, so has that dumb figure fas- 
tened on me, 

I rather should account the plastered 
wall 

A piece of him, so chilly does it strike. 

This, Sebald? 

Seb. No, the white wine — the 
white wine ! 

Well, Ottima, I promised no new year 

Should rise on us the ancient shame- 
ful way ; 

24 



Nor does it rise. Pour on ! To your 

black eyes ! 
Do you remember last damned New 
, Year's day? 

OttL You brought those foreign 

prints. We looked at them 
Over the wine and fruit. I had to 

scheme 
.4 To get him from the fire. Nothing 

but saying 
His own set wants the proof-mark, 

roused him up 
To hunt them out. 

Seb, 'Faith, he is not alive 

To fondle you before my face. 

Otti, Do you 

Fondle me then ! Who means to take 

your life 
For that, my Sebald.^ 

Seb. Hark you, Ottima! 

One thing to guard against. We'll 

not make much 
One of the other — that is, not make 

more 
Parade of warmth, childish officious 

coil, 
Than yesterday: as if, sweet, I sup- 
posed 
Proof upon proof were needed now, 

now first, 

25 



w^ 






m 


To show I love you — ^yes, still love 
you — love you 




^^ 


In spite of Luca and what's come to 




^S 


him 




Ik 


— Sure sign we had him ever in our 




^m 


thoughts, 




^m 


White sneering old reproachful face 




§K 


and all! 


^^ 


^M 


We'll even quarrel, love, at times. 




^^ 


as if 




^M 


We still could lose each other, were 




^m 


not tied 




^m 


By this : conceive you ? 




^K 


Otti. Love! 




^fe 


Seb. Not tied so sure! 




II 


Because though I was wrought upon, 


)^^^^ 


have struck 




^^ 


His insolence back into him — am I 




s 


So surely yours? — therefore forever 




^^ 


yours? 


mUiU&^ 


^M 


Otti. Love, to be wise (one coim- 


\\i!K/^ZS 


^P 


sel pays another). 




Mp 


Should we have — ^months ago, when 


\\i'wJ^ 


^K 


first we loved. 




lip 


For instance, that May morning we 




^^ 


two stole 




IS 


Under the green ascent of syca- 




^^ 


mores — 




^p 


If we had come upon a thing like that 




^^ 


Suddenly . . . 


^^^Qy 


8 


26 




m 


^^^^^^^^^P 







Seb, "A thing" — there again — 


Wl 




"a thing!" 


^e 




Oiti. Then, Venus's body, had we ^^^ 




come upon 
My husband, Luca Gaddi's murdered 


■ 




corpse 


^M 




Within there, at his couch-foot, cov- 


mA 




ered close — 


^P 


jjfl^/w;. 


Would you have pored upon it? Why 

persist 
In poring now upon it ? For 't is here 


1 




As much as there in the deserted 


J^^ 




house : 
You cannot rid your eyes of it. For 


■ 




me. 


^rai 




Now he is dead I hate him worse; I 


M^ 




hate . . • 


^TO 


^m 


Dare you stay here? I would go back 


1^ 




and hold 


^^ 




His two dead hands, and say, "I hate 


^8 




you worse. 


Iw 




Luca, than" . . . 


^™ 




Seb. Off, off — take your hands 


^P 


^M^- 


off mine, 
'T is the hot evening^-off ! oh, morn- 
ing, is it? 
Otii, There's one thing must be 


1 




done ; you know what thing. 
Come in and help to carry. We may 


8 




sleep 


^m 




27 


Bl 


S^tPi 


^^^^^^^^^^ 


H 



Anywhere in the whole wide house to- 
night. 
Seh. What would come, think 

you, if we let him lie 
Just as he is ? Let him lie there until 
The angels take him! He is turned 

by this 
Off from his face beside, as you will 

see. 
Otti, This dusty pane might 

serve for looking-glass. 
Three, four — four gray hairs ! Is it 

so you said 
A plait of hair should wave across 

my neck? 
No — this way. 

Seh. Ottima, I would give your 

neck. 
Each splendid shoulder, both those 

breasts of yours, 
That this were undone ! Killing ! Kill 

the world. 
So Luca lives again! — ay, lives to 

sputter 
His fulsome dotage on you — ^yes, and 

feign 
Surprise that I return at eve to 

sup, 
When all the morning I was loitering 

here — 

2% 



Bid me dispatch my business and be- iyl 

gone. 
I would . . . 
Otti. See! 

Seb. No, m finish. Do you 

think 
I fear to speak the bare truth once 

for aU? 
All we have talked of, is, at bottom, 

fine 
To suffer; there's a recompense in 

guilt ; 
One must be venturous and fortu- 
nate: 
What is one young for, else ? In age 

we'll sigh 
O'er the wild reckless wicked days 

flown over; 
Still, we have lived : the vice was in its 

place. 
But to have eaten Luca's bread, have 

worn 
His clothes, have felt his money swell 

my purse — 
Do lovers in romances sin that way? 
Why, I was starving when I used to 

call 
To teach you music, starving while 

you plucked me 
These flowers to smell! 

29 



OttL My poor lost friend ! 

Seb. He gave me 

Life, nothing less : what if he did re- 
proach 

My perfidy, and threaten, and do 
more — 

Had he no right? What was to 
wonder at? 

He sat by us at table quietly : 

Why must you lean across till our 
cheeks touched? 

Could he do less than make pretence 
to strike? 

'T is not the crime's sake — I'd com- 
mit ten crimes 

Greater, to have this crime wiped out, 
undone ! 

And you — O how feel you? Feel you 
for me? 
OttL Well then, I love you better 
now than ever. 

And best (look at me while I speak 
to you) — 

Best for the crime; nor do I grieve, 
in truth. 

This mask, this simulated ignorance. 

This affectation of simplicity. 

Falls off our crime ; this naked crime 
of ours 

30 



May not now be looked over: look it 

down! 
Great? let it be great; but the joys 

it brought, 
Pay they or no its price? Come: 

they or it! 
Speak not ! The past, would you give 

up the past 
Such as it is, pleasure and crime to- 
gether ? 
Give up that noon I owned my love 

for you? 
The garden's silence : even the single 

bee 
Persisting in his toil, suddenly 

stopped. 
And where he hid you only could 

surmise 
By some campanula chalice set 

a-swing. 
Who stammered — "Yes, I love you?" 
Seb. And I drew 

Back; put far back your face with 

both my hands 
Lest you should grow too full of me 

— your face 
So seemed athirst for my whole soul 

and body ! 
Otti. And when I ventured to re- 
ceive you here, 

31 



^i^KTv.- 



ppS^] 



kA^ 



Made you steal hither in the morn- 
ing— 
Seh. When 

I used to look up 'neath the shrub- 
house here. 
Till the red fire on its glazed win- 
dows spread 
To a yellow haze ? 

Otti. Ah — my sign was, the sun 
Inflamed the sere side of yon chest- 
nut-tree 
Nipped by the first frost. 

Seh. You would always laugh 

At my wet boots ; I had to stride 

through grass 
Over my ankles. 

Otti. Then our crowning night ! 
Seh. The July night? 
Otti. The day of it too, Sebald! 
When heaven's pillars seemed o'er- 

bowed with heat. 
Its black-blue canopy suffered descend 
Close on us both, to weigh down each 

to each, 
And smother up all life except our 

hfe. 
So lay we till the storm came. 

Seh. How it came! 

Otti. Buried in woods we lay, you 
recollect ; 

32 



1 


Swift ran the searching tempest 


1 


^^ 


overhead ; 


^m^'' 


^ 


And ever and anon some bright white 


^^ 


m 


shaft 
Burned through the pine-tree roof, 


m 


m 


here burned and there, 
As if God's messenger through the 


m 


Pfii 


close wood screen 


r^^ 


^m 


Plunged and replunged his weapon at 


^S 


r^ 


a venture, 


^^M 


K 


Feeling for guilty thee and me : then 


^M 


^^ 


broke 


W^ 


p 


The thunder like a whole sea over- 
head — 


m 


s 


Seb. Yes! 

Otti. While I stretched myself 


m 


^p 


upon you, hands 


^^ 


^M 


To hands, my mouth to your hot 


i^^ 


p 


mouth, and shook 


^S| 


All my locks loose, and covered you 


^^ 


^/ 


with them — 


^^ 


wf 


You, Sebald, the same you! 


^^ 


^K 


Seb. Slower, Ottima! 


^m 


^^ 


Otti. And as we lay — 


^g 


^i 


Seb. Less vehemently ! Love me ! 


^^ 


ni^ 


Forgive me! Take not words, mere 


^^ 


1^^ 


words, to heart ! 


^m 


s 


Your breath is worse than wine. 


TO^ 


Breathe slow, speak slow! 


^^ 


1 


Do not lean on me ! 

33 


1 



^1^ 


Otti. Sebald, as we lay, 
Who said, "Let death come now ! 'T is 






right to die ! 






Right to be punished! Naught com- 




^rai^M 


pletes such bliss 






But woe!" Who said that? 






Seb. How did we ever rise? 


^^^W/PrAj 




Was 't that we slept ! Why did it 






end? 
Otti. I felt you 






Taper into a point the ruffled ends 
Of my loose locks 'twixt both your 




S^ 


humid lips. 






My hair is fallen now : knot it again ! 
Seb. I kiss you now, dear Ottima, 




^^B 


now and now ! 




This way? Will you forgive me — ^be 






once more 






My great queen? 






Otti. Bind it thrice about my 
brow; 
Crown me your queen, your spirit's 






arbitress. 
Magnificent in sin. Say that ! 

Seb. I crown you 
My great white queen, my spirit's 

arbitress, 
Magnificent . . . 




W^ 


• 

34 


Wvi 







[From without is heard the voice of 
PippA singing — 
The year's at the spring 
And day's at the morn; 
Morning's at seven; 
The hillside's dew-pearled; 
The lark's on the wing; 
The snail's on the thorn; 
God's in his heaven — 
All's right with the world! 

[PippA passes. 
Seb. God's in his heaven? Do 
you hear that? Who spoke? 
You, you spoke ! 

Otti. Oh — that Httle ragged girl I 
She must have rested on the step : we 

give them 
But this one hohday the whole year 

round. 
Did you ever see our silk-mills — their 

inside ? 
There are ten silk-miUs now belong to 

you. 
She stoops to pick my double hearts- 
ease . . . Sh! 
She does not hear: call you out 
louder ! 
Seh, Leave me ! 

Go, get your clothes on — dress those 
shoulders ! 

35 



Otti. Sebald? 

Seh. Wipe off that paint ! I hate 

you. 
OttL Miserable ! 

Seh. My God, and she is emptied 
of it now ! 
Outright now ! — ^how miraculously 

gone 
All of the grace — had she not 

strange grace once? 
Why, the blank cheek hangs listless 

as it likes, 
No purpose holds the features up to- 
gether. 
Only the cloven brow and puckered 

chin 
Stay in their places: and the very 

hair. 
That seemed to have a sort of life 

in it. 
Drops, a dead web ! 

Otti. Speak to me — not of me! 
Seh. That round great full-orbed 
face, where not an angle 
Broke the delicious indolence — all 
broken ! 
Otti. To me — not of me! Un- 
grateful, perjured cheat! 
A coward too: but ingrate's worse 
than all! 

36 



W: 


^>yZ>^ t'^s^wOsCs.p /NH^^XJ'^^55k£-5fe2&62?<£^ ••^^•e<©54^<sw(«<xlK;\J\ a" j 


^^ 


I w^jfi" 




Wm^ 




Beggar — my slave — a fawning, 


S 




cringing lie! 


1 


^^ 


Leave me ! Betray me ! I can see your 


'^J- 


drift! 


^ 




A lie that walks and eats and drinks ! 


^ 




Seh. My God! 


^ 


)[^^ 


Those morbid olive faultless shoul- 


^ 


JLJ/i^/'" 


der-blades — 


ra 


^ 


I should have known there was no 
blood beneath ! 
OWi, You hate me then? You 


i 


l^l^v 


hate me then? 
Seh. To think 


1 


' /^»T,-"V 


She would succeed in her absurd at- 
tempt, 


m 




And fascinate by sinning, show her- 


P 




self 




Superior — guilt from its excess su- 


w 


»\7w(^ 


perior 
To innocence! That little peasant's 
voice 


1 




Has righted all again. Though I be 


M 




lost, 


Wit 




I know which is the better, never fear. 


^ 




Of vice or virtue, purity or lust. 


M 




Nature or trick! I see what I have 


?^ 




done. 


m 


Entirely now ! Oh, I am proud to feel 


W^ 




Such torments — let the world take 


^ 


!<A^ 


credit thence — 


^ 


X^ 


37 


i 



I, having done my deed, pay too its 

price ! 
I hate, hate — curse you ! God's in his ^ 

heaven ! 
OttL — Me! 

Me! no, no, Sebald, not yourself — 

kill me ! 
Mine is the whole crime. Do but kill 

me — then 
Yourself — then — presently — first 

hear me speak ! 
I always meant to kill myself — wait, 

you! 
Lean on my breast — not as a breast ; 

don't love me 
The more because you lean on me, my 

own 
Heart's Sebald! There, there, both 

deaths presently ! 
Seb. My brain is drowned now — 

quite drowned : all I feel 
Is . . . is, at swift-recurring intervals, 
A hurry-down within me, as of 

waters 
Loosened to smother up some ghastly 

pit: 
There they go — ^whirls from a black 

fiery sea ! 
Otti. Not me — to him, O God, be 

merciful ! 



Talh hy the way^ while Pippa is 
passing from the hillside to Or- 
cana. Foreign Students of paint- 
ing and sculpture, from Venicey as- 
sembled opposite the house of 
Jules, a young French Statuary, 
at Passagno. 



1st Student. Attention! My own 
post is beneath this window, but the 
pomegranate clump yonder will hide 
three or four of you with a little 
squeezing, and Schramm and his pipe 
must lie flat in the balcony. Four, 
five — who's a defaulter? We want 
everybody, for Jules must not be suf- 
fered to hurt his bride when the jest's 
found out. 

2d Stud, All here! Only our 
poet's away — ^never having much 
meant to be present, moonstrike him ! 
The airs of that fellow, that Giovac- 
chino ! He was in violent love with 
himself, and had a fair prospect of 
thriving in his suit, so unmolested was 
it — ^when suddenly a woman falls in 
love with him, too ; and out of pure 
jealousy he takes himself off* to Tri- 
este, immortal poem and all: where- 
to is this prophetical epitaph ap- 

39 



pended already, as Bluphocks assures 
me — ^^Here a mammothrpoem lies, 
Fouled to death hy butterflies,^^ His 
own fault, the simpleton ! Instead of 
cramp couplets, each like a knife in 
your entrails, he should write, says 
Bluphocks, both classically and intel- 
ligibly. — Msculapius, an Epic, Cat- 
alogue of the drugs: Hebe's plaister 
— One strip Cools your lip. Phos- 
bus's emulsion — One bottle Clears 
your throttle. Mercury's bolus — 
One box Cures . . . 

Sd Stud. Subside, my fine fellow ! 
If the marriage was over by ten 
o'clock, Jules will certainly be here 
in a minute with his bride. 

9^d Stud. Good ! — only, so should 
the poet's muse have been universal- 
ly acceptable, says Bluphocks, et 
canibus nostris . . . and Deha not 
better known to our literary dogs 
than the boy Giovacchino ! 

\st Stud. To the point, now. 
Where's Gottlieb, the new-comer.? 
Oh — ^listen, Gottlieb, to what has 
called down this piece of friendly 
vengeance on Jules, of which we now 
assemble to witness the winding-up. 
We are all agreed, all in a tale, ob- 

40 



serve, when Jules shall burst out on 
us in a fury by and by : I am spokes- 
man — the verses that are to imde- 
ceive Jules bear my name of Lut- 
wyche — but each professes himself 
alike insulted by this strutting stone- 
squarer, who came along from Paris 
to Munich, and thence with a crowd 
of us to Venice and Passagno here, 
but proceeds in a day or two alone 
again — oh, alone indubitably ! — to 
Rome and Florence. He, forsooth, 
take up his portion with these dis- 
solute, brutalized, heartless bunglers ! 
— so he was heard to call us all. 
Now, is Schramm brutalized, I should 
like to know? Am I heartless.'^ 

Gottlieb. Why, somewhat heart- 
less ; for, suppose Jules a coxcomb as 
much as you choose, still, for this 
mere coxcombry, you will have 
brushed off — what do folks style it.f^ 
— the bloom of his life. Is it too late 
to alter ? These love-letters now, you 
call his — I can't laugh at them. 

4ith Stud. Because you never 
read the sham letters of our inditing 
which drew forth these. 

Gott. His discovery of the truth 
will be frightful. 

41 



4ith Stud. That's the joke. But 
you should have joined us at the be- 
ginning: there's no doubt he loves 
the girl — ^loves a model he might hire 
by the hour! 

Gott. See here ! "He has been ac- 
customed," he writes, "to have Can- 
ova's women about him, in stone, and 
the world's women beside him, in 
flesh; these being as much below, as 
those above, his soul's aspiration : but 
now he is to have the reality." There 
you laugh again ! I say, you wipe off 
the very dew of his youth. 

1st Stud. Schramm! (Take the 
pipe out of his mouth, somebody !) 
Will Jules lose the bloom of his 
youth ? 

Schramm. Nothing worth keep- 
ing is ever lost in this world : look at 
a blossom — it drops presently, hav- 
ing done its service and lasted its 
time; but fruits succeed, and where 
would be the blossom's place could it 
continue.^ As well affirm that your 
eye is no longer in your bod}^ be- 
cause its earliest favorite, whatever 
it may have first loved to look on, is 
dead and done with — as that any af- 
fection is lost to the soul when its 



42 



first object, whatever happened first 
to satisfy it, is superseded in due 
course. Keep but ever looking, 
whether with the body's eye or the 
mind's, and you will soon find some- 
thing to look on ! Has a man done 
wondering at women? — there follow 
men, dead and alive, to wonder at. 
Has he done wondering at men? — 
there's God to wonder at: and the 
faculty of wonder may be, at the 
same time, old and tired enough with 
respect to its first object, and yet 
young and fresh sufficiently, so far 
as concerns its novel one. Thus . . . 
1st Stud, Put Schramm's pipe 
into his mouth again! There, you 
see ! Well, this Jules ... a wretched 
fribble — oh, I watched his disport- 
ings at Passagno, the other day. 
Canova's gallery — you know: there 
he marches first resolvedly past 
great works by the dozen without 
vouchsafing an eye: all at once he 
stops full at the Psiche-fanciulla — 
cannot pass that old acquaintance 
without a nod of encouragement — 
"In your new place, beauty? Then 
behave yourself as well here as at 
Munich — I see you !" Next he posts 

43 



himself deliberately before the un- 
finished Pieta for half an hour with- 
out moving, till up he starts of a 
sudden, and thrusts his very nose into 
— I say, into — the group ; by which 
gesture you are informed that pre- 
cisely the sole point he had not fully 
mastered in Canova's practice was a 
certain method of using the drill in 
the articulation of the knee-joint — 
and that, likewise, has he mastered at 
length ! Good-by, therefore, to poor 
Canova — ^whose gallery no longer 
needs detain his successor, Jules, the 
predestinated novel thinker in 
marble ! 

5th Stud. Tell him about the 
women : go on to the women ! 

1st Stud, Why, on that matter 
he could never be supercilious enough. 
How should we be other (he said) 
than the poor devils you see, with 
those debasing habits we cherish? He 
was not to wallow in that mire, at 
least: he would wait, and love only 
at the proper time, and meanwhile 
put up with the Psiche-fanciulla. 
Now I happened to hear of a young 
Greek — real Greek girl at Mala- 
mocco; a true Islander, do you see, 

44 



with Alciphron's "hair Kke sea- 
moss" — Schramm knows ! — ^white and 
quiet as an apparition, and fourteen 
years old at farthest — a daughter of 
Nataha, so she swears — that hag 
NataHa, who helps us to models at 
three lire an hour. We selected this 
girl for the heroine of our jest. So, 
first, Jules received a scented letter 
— somebody had seen his Tydeus at 
the Academy, and my picture was 
nothing to it: a profound admirer 
bade him persevere — ^would make her- 
self known to him ere long. (Pao- 
lina, my httle friend of the Fenice, 
transcribes divinely.) And in due 
time, the mysterious correspondent 
gave certain hints of her peculiar 
charms — the pale cheeks, the black 
hair — whatever, in short, had struck 
us in our Malamocco model: we re- 
tained her name, too — Phene, which 
is, by interpretation, sea-eagle. 
Now, think of Jules finding himself 
distinguished from the herd of us by 
such a creature! In his very first 
answer he proposed marrying his 
monitress: and fancy us over these 
letters, two, three times a day, to re- 
ceive and dispatch! I concocted the 

45 



main of it: relations were in the way 
— secrecy must be observed — in fine, 
would he wed her on trust, and only 
speak to her when they were indis- 
solubly united? St — st — Here they 
come! 

6th Stud. Both of them! 
Heaven's love, speak softly, speak 
within yourselves ! 

5th Stud. Look at the bride- 
groom ! Half his hair in storm and 
half in calm — patted down over the 
left temple — hke a frothy cup one 
blows on to cool it : and the same old 
blouse that he murders the marble in. 

2d Stud. Not a rich vest like 
yours, Hannibal Scratchy ! — rich, 
that your face may the better set it 
off. 

6th Stud. And the bride! Yes, 
sure enough, our Phene ! Should you 
have known her in her clothes ? How 
magnificently pale! 

Gott, She does not also take it 
for earnest, I hope? 

1^^ Stud. Oh, Natalia's concern, 
that is ! We settle with Natalia. 

6th Stud. She does not speak — 
has evidently let out no word. The 
only thing is, will she equally remem- 

46 



:^y 



ber the rest of her lesson, and repeat 
correctly all those verses which are to 
break the secret to Jules? 

Gott. How he gazes on her ! Pity 
—pity! 

1*^ Stud. They go in: now, si- 
lence! You three — not nearer the 
window, mind, than that pomegran- 
ate: just where the little girl, who a 
few minutes ago passed us singing, 
is seated! 



47 



n. NOON. 

Over Orcana. The house of Jules, 
who crosses its threshold with 
Phene: she is silent, on which 
Jules begins — 



Do not die, Phene ! I am yours now, 

you 
Are mine now ; let fate reach me how 

she Hkes, 
If you'll not die: so, never die! Sit 

here — 
My work-room's single seat. I over- 
lean 
This length of hair and lustrous 

front; they turn 
Like an entire flower upward; eyes, 

lips, last 
Your chin — no, last your throat 

turns : 't is their scent 
Pulls down my face upon you. Nay, 

look ever 
This one way till I change, grow you 

— I could 
Change into you, beloved ! 

You by me, 

4S 



And I by you ; this is your hand in 

mine. 
And side by side we sit: all's true. 

Thank God! 
I have spoken : speak you ! 

O my Hfe to come! 
My Tydeus must be carved, that's 

there in clay; 
Yet how be carved, with you about 

the room? 
Where must I place you? When I 

think that once 
This room-full of rough block-work 

seemed my heaven 
Without you! Shall I ever work 

again, 
Get fairly into my old ways again. 
Bid each conception stand while, trait 

by trait. 
My hand transfers its lineaments to 

stone ? 
Will my mere fancies live near you, 

their truth — 
The live truth, passing and repass- 
ing me. 
Sitting beside me? 

Now speak ! 

Only first. 
See, all your letters ! Was 't not well 

contrived? 

49 



Their hiding-place is Psyche's robe; 

she keeps 
Your letters next her skin: which 

drops out foremost? 
Ah — this that swam down Hke a first 

moonbeam 
Into my world ! 

Again those eyes complete 
Their melancholy survey, sweet and 

slow, 
Of all my room holds ; to return and 

rest 
On me, with pity, yet some wonder 

too; 
As if God bade some spirit plague a 

world. 
And this were the one moment of sur- 
prise 
And sorrow while she took her sta- 
tion, pausing 
O'er what she sees, finds good, and 

must destroy ! 
What gaze you at? Those? Books 

I told you of ; 
Let your first word to me rejoice 

them, too: 
This minion, a Coluthus, writ in 

red. 
Bistre and azure by Bessarion's 

scribe — 

50 



Read this line . . . no, shame — Ho- 
* mer's be the Greek 

First breathed me from the lips of 
my Greek girl! 

This Odyssey in coarse black vivid 
type 

With faded yellow blossoms 'twixt 
page and page, 

To mark great places with due grat- 
itude ; 

*^He said, and on Antinous directed 

A hitter shaft^^ ... a flower blots 
out the rest! 

Again upon your search? My stat- 
ues, then ! 

— ^Ah, do not mind that — ^better that 
will look 

When cast in bronze — an Almaign 
Kaiser, that, 

Swart-green and gold, with trun- 
cheon based on hip. 

This, rather, turn to ! What, unrec- 
ognized? 

I thought you would have seen that 
here you sit 

As I imagined you — Hippolyta, 

Naked upon her bright Numidiah 
horse. 

Recall you this then? "Carve in bold 
rehef"— 

51 



irrjT 



■v-gr 



U r-' '* 



?5 



So you commanded — "carve, against 

I come, 
AGteek in Athens, as ourfashion was. 
Feasting, bay-filletted and thunder- 
free. 
Who rises 'neath the lifted myrtle- 
branch. 
^ ' Praise those who slew Hipparchus !' 

cry the guests, 
* While o'er thy head the singer's 

myrtle waves 
As erst above our champion: stand 

up, all!'" 
See, I have labored to express your 

thought. 
Quite round, a cluster of mere hands 

and arms 
(Thrust in all senses, all ways, from 

all sides, 
^ Only consenting at the branch's end 
They strain toward) serves for frame 

to a sole face. 
The Praiser's, in the centre: who with 

eyes 
Sightless, so bend they back to light 

inside 
y^^ His brain where visionary forms 

throng up. 
Sings, minding not that palpitating 

arch 

52 




Of hands and arms, nor the quick 

drip of wine ^ 

From the drenched leaves overhead, 

nor crowns cast off, 
Violet and parsley crowns to trample 

on — 
Sings, pausing as the patron-ghosts 

approve. 
Devoutly their unconquerable hymn. 
But you must say a "well" to that — |! 

say "well!" 
Because you gaze — am I fantastic. 

sweet ? 
Gaze like my very life's-stufF, marble 

— marbly 
Even to the silence! Why, before I 

found 
The real flesh Phene, I inured my- 
self 
To see, throughout all nature, varied 

stuff 
For better nature's birth by means of 

art: 
With me, each substance tended to 

one form 
Of beauty — to the human archetype. 
On every side occurred suggestive 

germs 
Of that — the tree, the flower — or 

take the fruit — 
53 



m 


^^^^^^^^^^^^M 


W 


Some rosy shape, continuing the 




^m 


peach, 




^m 


Curved bee-wise o'er its bough; as 




^m 


rosy limbs, 


^^^ 


^Iw 


Depending, nestled in the leaves ; and 




'^m 


just 




m 


From a cleft rose-peach the whole 
Dryad sprang. 




"^m 


But of the stuffs one can be master 




^m 


of. 




^M 


How I divined their capabilities ! 




^m 


From the soft-rinded smoothening 




^K 


facile chalk 




^P 


That yields your outline to the air's 




^K 


embrace. 




m 


Half softened by a halo's pearly 
' gloom: 


^>^^ 


^m 


Down to the crisp imperious steel, so 




^^ 


sure 




^m 


To cut its one confided thought clean 




^g 


out ^^M 


mr 


Of all the world. But marble! — 




'^p 


'neath my tools 




^m 


More pliable than jelly — as it were 




^P 


Some clear primordial creature dug 




^^ 


from depths 




^JS 


In the earth's heart where itself 




^m 


breeds itself. 




^P 


And whence all baser substance may 




^ra 


be worked; 




i 


54 









Refine it off to air, you may — con- 
dense it 

Down to the diamond; is not metal 
there, 

When o'er the sudden speck my chisel 
trips? 

— Not flesh, as flake off flake I scale, 
approach, 

Lay bare those bluish veins of blood 
asleep ? 

Lurks flame in no strange windings 
where, surprised 

By the swift implement sent home at 
once. 

Flushes and glowings radiate and 
hover 

About its track? 

Phene? what — ^why is this? 

That whitening cheek, those still di- 
lating eyes ! 

Ah, you will die — I knew that you 
would die! 

Phene begins, on Ms having long 
remained silent. 



Now the end's coming ; to be sure, it 

must 
Have ended sometime! Tush, why 

need I speak 
55 



jg]^i^?^^^T5^ST^^3C^E3JS?^SJ5^c5!:!^^3^^ 






^ 






^m 




Their foolish speech? I cannot bring 


^M 




to mind 


M 


w'V/V^' 


One half of it, beside; and do not 




care 


^m 




For old Natalia now, nor any of 


^m 


^^H them. 


f^^ 


^^^ Oh, you — what are you? — if I do not 


^S 




try 


^^ 




To say the words Natalia made me 


l5^ 


vju^^i^ 


learn, 


^^ 




To please your friends — it is to keep 


^m 




myself 


'^M 


f(OJ(Urr.n 


Where your voice lifted me, by let- 


J^Pfl 




ting that ^^^ 




Proceed: but can it? Even you, per- 


^^ 




haps. 


^i 




Cannot take up, now you have once 


Wm 


K^^i^ 


let fall. 


^^ 




The music's life, and me along with 

that— 
No, or you would! We'll stay, then, 

as we are: 


1 


Kvf\l'/J 


Above the world. 

You creature with the eyes ! 
If I could look forever up to them, 


i 




As now you let me — I believe all sin. 


Ww 




All memory of wrong done, suifFering 


P^ 




borne. 


^^ 


j|>jy^/ tA 


Would drop down, low and lower, to 


^^ 




^^^^J 



Whence all that's low comes, and 

there touch and stay 
— Never to overtake the rest of me, 
All that, unspotted, reaches up to 

you. 
Drawn by those eyes ! What rises is 

myself. 
Not me the shame and suffering ; but 

they sink, 
Are left, I rise above them. Keep me 

so. 
Above the world ! 

But you sink, for your eyes 
Are altering — altered ! Stay — "I love 

you, love" . . . 
I could prevent it if I understood : 
More of your words to me : was 't in 

the tone 
Or the words, your power? 

Or stay — I will repeat 
Their speech, if that contents you! 

Only change 
No more, and I shall find it pres- 
ently 
Far back here, in the brain yourself 

filled up. 
Nataha threatened me that harm 

should follow 
Unless I spoke their lesson to the 

end, 

57 



But harm to me, I thought she meant, 

not you. 
Your friends — Natalia said they 

were your friends 
And meant you well — ^because I 

doubted it, 
Observing (what was very strange 

to see) 
On every face, so different in all else. 
The same smile girls like me are used 

to bear. 
But never men, men cannot stoop so 

low; 
Yet your friends, speaking of you, 

used that smile, 
That hateful smirk of boundless self- 
conceit 
Which seems to take possession of the 

world 
And make of God a tame confederate, 
Purveyor to their appetites . . . 

you know! 
But still Natalia said they were your 

friends. 
And they assented though they 

smiled the more. 
And all came round me — ^that thin 

Englishman 
With light lank hair seemed leader 

of the rest ; 
58 



He held a paper — "What we want," 
said he. 

Ending some explanation to his 
friends — 

"Is something slow, involved and 
mystical, 

To hold Jules long in doubt, yet 
take his taste 

And lure him on until, at inner- 
most 

Where he seeks sweetnesses soul, he 
may find — this ! 

— As in the apple's core, the noisome 

fly: 

For insects on the rind are seen at 

once, 
5 And brushed aside as soon, but this is 

found 
Only when on the lips or loathing 

tongue." 
And so he read what I have got by 

heart : 
FU speak it — "Do not die, love ! I am 

yours" . . • 
No — is not that, or like that, part of 

words 
Yourself began by speaking? 

Strange to lose 
What cost such pains to learn! Is 

this more right? 
59 



/ am a painter who carmot paint; 
In my life, a devil rather than 

saint; 
In my brain, as poor a creature, 

too: 
No end to all I cannot do! 
Yet do one thing at least I can — 
Love a man or hate a man 
Supremely: thus my lore began. 
Through the Valley of Love I 

went. 
In the lovingest spot to abide, 
And just on the verge where I 

pitched my tent, 
I found Hate dwelling beside. 
{Let the Bridegroom ask what the 

painter meant. 
Of his Bride, of the peerless 

Bride!) 
And further, I traversed Haters 

grove. 
In the hatefullest nooJc to dwell; 
But lo, where I flung myself prone, 

couched Love 
Where the shadow threefold fell. 
{The meaning — those blacTc 

bride's-eyes above. 
Not a painter's lip should tell!) 

60 



"And here/' said he, "Jules probably 

will ask, 
*You have black eyes. Love — ^you are, 

sure enough. 
My peerless bride — then do you teU 

indeed 
What needs some explanation ! What 

means this ?' '' 
— And I am to go on, without a 

word — 



So, I grew wise in Love and Hate, 
From simple that I was of late. 
Once, when I loved, I would enlace 
Breast, eyelids, hands, feet, form 

and face 
Of her I loved, in one embrace — 
As if by mere love I could love im- 
mensely! 
Once, when I hated, I would plunge 
My sword, and wipe with the first 

lunge 
My foe^s whole life out like a 

sponge — 
As if by mere hate I could hate in- 
tensely! 
But now I am wiser, know better 

the fashion 
How passion seeks aid from its op- 
posite passion: 
61 



And if I see cause to love more, 

hate more 
Than ever man loved, ever hated 

before — 
And seek in the Valley of Love 
The nesty or the nook in Haters 

Grove 
Where my soul may surely reach 
The essence, naught less, of each. 
The Hate of all Hates, the Love 
Of all Loves, in the Valley or 

Grove — 
I find them the very warders 
Each of the other's borders. 
When I love most. Love is disguised 
In Hate; and when Hate is sur- 
prised 
In Love, then I hate most : ask 
How Love smiles through Hate's 

iron casque. 
Hate grins through Love's rose- 
braided mask — 
And how, having hated thee, 
I sought long and painfully 
To reach thy heart, nor prick 
The skin but pierce to the quick — 
Ask this, my Jules, and be an- 
swered straight 
By the bride — how the painter 



Lutwyche can hate! 

62 







S 


^^^ 








^p 


Jules interposes. 


^^2 




Lutwyche! Who else? But all of Rf;| 




them, no doubt, Ut^M 


f^^ 


Hated me : they at Venice — presently 


^^ 




Their turn, however ! You I shall not 


^^ 




meet : 


^M 




If I dreamed, saying this would 
wake me. 

Keep 


1 




What 's here, the gold — we cannot 
1 • 


^m 




meet agam. 


y^frnfA^ 




Consider! and the money was but 
meant 


lffi> 




g^^ 




For two years' travel, which is over 
now, 


B 


^c^^ 


All chance or hope or care or need 
of it. 


m 




This — and what comes from selling 


^M 




these, my casts 


^M 


4m 


And books and medals, except . . . 


f^ffi 




let them go 


^^ 




Together, so the produce keeps you 


Wm 




safe 


^K 




Out of Natalia's clutches! If by 


^m 




chance 


^^ 




(For alPs chance here) I should sur- 


^m 




vive the gang 


^M 




At Venice, root out alljSfteen of them, 


^^ 




We might meet somewhere, since the 


^m 




world is wide. 


^K 




63 


^m 




^^^^^^^^^m 


m 



[From without is heard the voice of 
PippA, singvng — 
Give her hut a least excuse to love 

me! 
When — where — 
How — can this arm establish her 

above me. 
If fortune fixed her as my lady 

there. 
There already, to eternally reprove 

me? 
{^^Histr said Kate the Queen; 
But ^'Oh!'' cried the maiden, bind- 
ing her tresses, 
^^^Tis only a page carols unseen. 
Crumbling your hounds their 

messes!'^) 
Is she wronged? — To the rescue of 

her honor. 
My heart! 
Is she poor? — What costs it to be 

styled a donor? 
Merely an earth to cleave, a sea to 

part. 
But that fortune should have 

thrust all this upon her! 
(^^Nay, list!'' — bade Kate the 

Queen; 
And still cried the maiden, binding 

her tresses, 

64 



« 9 



Tis only a page that carols un^ 
seen. 
Fitting your hawks their jesses!*^) 

[PippA passes. 

Jules resumes. 

What name was that the little girl 
sang forth? 

Kate? The Cornaro, doubtless, who 
renounced 

The crown of Cyprus to be lady 
here 

At Asolo, where still her memory 
stays, 

And peasants sing how once a cer- 
tain page 

Pined for the grace of her so far 
above 

His power of doing good to, "Kate 
the Queen — 

She never could be wronged, be 
poor," he sighed, 

"Need him to help her !" 

Yes, a bitter thing 

To see our lady above all need of us ; 

Yet so we look ere we will love ; not I, 

But the world looks so. If whoever 
loves 

Must be, in some sort, god or wor- 
shipper, 

6S 




The blessing or the blest one, queen 
or page, 

Why should we always choose the 
page's part? 

Here is a woman with utter need of 
me — 

I find myself queen here, it seems ! 

How strange! 

Look at the woman here with the new 
soul, 

Like my own Psyche — fresh upon her 
lips 

Alit, the visionary butterfly. 

Waiting my word to enter and make 
bright, 

Or flutter ofi^ and leave all blank as 
first. 
^ This body had no soul before, but 
slept 

Or stirred, was beauteous or ungain- 
ly, free 

From taint or foul with stain, as out- 
ward things 

Fastened their image on its passive- 
ness: 

Now, it will wake, feel, live — or die 



again 



Shall to produce form out of un- 

shaped stuff 
Be Art — and further, to evoke a soul 

66 



From form be nothing? This new 
soul is mine ! 



Now, to kill Lutwyche, what would 

that do? — save 
A wretched dauber, men will hoot to 

death 
Without me, from their hooting. Oh, 

to hear 
God's voice plain as I heard it first, 

before 
They broke in with their laughter ! I 

heard them 
Henceforth, not God. 

To Ancona — Greece — some isle ! 
I wanted silence only ; there is clay 
Everywhere. One may do whatever 

one likes 
In Art: the only thing is, to make 

sure 
That one does like it — ^which takes 

pains to know. 
Scatter all this, my Phene — ^this 

mad dream! 
Who, what is Lutwyche, what Na- 
talia's friends. 
What the whole world except our 

love — my own. 
Own Phene? But I told you, did I 

not, 

67 



Ere night we travel for your land — 

some isle 
With the sea's silence on it? Stand 

aside — 
I do but break these paltry models up 
To begin Art afresh. Meet Lut- 

wyche, I — 
And save him from my statue meet- 
ing him? 
Some unsuspected isle in the far seas ! 
Like a god going through his world, 

tli^re stands 
One mountain for a moment in the 

dusk, 
Whole brotherhoods of cedars on its 

brow: 
And you are ever by me while I gaze 
— Are in my arms as now — as now — 



as now 



Some unsuspected isle in the far seas ! 
Some unsuspected isle in far-off seas I 



Talk by the way^ while Pippa is pass- 
ing from Orcann to the Turret. 
Two or three of the Austrian Po- 
lice loitering with Bluphocks, an 
English vagabond, just in view of 
the Turret. 



BluphocJcs. So, that is your 
Pippa, the Kttle girl who passed us 
singing? Well, your Bishop's In- 
tendant's money shall be honestly 
earned : now don't make me that sour 
face because I bring the Bishop's 
name into the business ; we know he 
can have nothing to do with such hor- 
rors : we know that he is a saint and 
all that a bishop should be, who is a 
great man beside. Oh, were but 
every worm a maggot. Every fly a 
grig. Every bough a Christmas 
fagot. Every tune a jig! In fact, I 
have abjured all religions; but the 
last I inclined to was the Armenian : 
for I have traveled, do you see, and 
at Koenigsberg, Prussia Improper 
(so styled because there's a sort of 
bleak, hungry sun there), you might 
remark, over a venerable house- 
porch, a certain Chaldee inscription ; 
and brief as it is, a mere glance at it 
69 



used absolutely to change the mood 
of every bearded passenger. In they 
turned, one and all; the young and 
lightsome, with no irreverent pause, 
the aged and decrepit, with a sensible 
alacrity : 't was the Grand Rabbi's 
abode, in short. Struck with curios- 
ity, I lost no time in learning Syriac 
— (these are vowels, you dogs — fol- 
low my stick's end in the mud — Cela- 
rent, Darii, Ferio!) and one morning 
presented myself, spelling-book in 
hand, a, b, c — I picked it out letter 
by letter, and what was the purport 
of this miraculous posy.'^ Some cher- 
ished legend of the past, you '11 say — 
^^How Moses hocus-pocussed Egypfs 
land with fty and locus f — or, ''How 
to Jonah sounded harshish. Get thee 
up and go to TarshisW — or, ''How 
the angel meeting Balaam, Straight 
his ass returned a salaam,'^ In no 
wise ! "Shackabrack — Boach — some- 
body or other — Isaach, Re-cei-ver, 
Pur-cha-ser and Ex-chan-ger of — 
Stolen Goods r^ So, talk to me of 
the religion of a bishop ! I have re- 
nounced all bishops save Bishop Bev- 
eridge ! — mean to live so — and die — 
As some Greek dog-sage, dead and 
7a 



merry, Hellward hound m Charon^ s 
wherry. With food for both worlds, 
under and upper. Lupine-seed and 
Hecate's supper, And never an obolus 
. . . (though thanks to you, or this 
Intendant through you, or this 
Bishop through his Intendant — I 
possess a burning pocket-full of 
zwanzigers) . . . To pay the Styg- 
ian Ferry! 

1st Policeman. There is the girl, 
then; go and deserve them the mo- 
ment you have pointed out to us Sig- 
nor Luigi and his mother. \_To the 
rest,^ I have been noticing a house 
yonder, this long while: not a shut- 
ter unclosed since morning! 

2d Pol. Old Luca Gaddi's, that 
owns the silk-mills here: he dozes by 
the hour, wakes up, sighs deeply, says 
he should like to be Prince Metter- 
nich, and then dozes again, after hav- 
ing bidden young Sebald, the for- 
eigner, set his wife to playing 
draughts. Never molest such a 
household ; they mean well. 

Blup. Only, cannot you tell me 
something of this little Pippa, I must 
have to do with.^ One could make 
something of that name. Pippa — 

71 



that is short for Felippa — rhyming 
to Panurge consults Hertrippa — Be- 
lievest thou. King Agrippa? Some- 
thing might be done with that name. 

2d Pol. Put into rhyme that your 
head and a ripe muskmelon would not 
be dear at half a zwanziger! Leave 
this fooling, and look out ; the after- 
noon 's over, or nearly so. 

3d Pol, Where in this passport 
of Signor Luigi does our Principal 
instruct you to watch him so narrow- 
ly? There? What's there beside a 
simple signature? (That English 
fool 's busy watching. ) 

2d Pol. Flourish all round— "Put 
all possible obstacles in his way;" 
oblong dot at the end — "Detain him 
till further advices reach you;" 
scratch at bottom — "send him back 
on pretence of some informahty in 
the above;" ink-spirt on righthand 
side (which is the case here) — "Ar- 
rest him at once." Why and where- 
fore, I don't concern myself, but my 
instructions amount to this: if Sig- 
nor Luigi leaves home to-night for 
Vienna — ^well and good, the passport 
deposed with us for our visa is really 
for his own use, they have misin- 

72 





III. EVENING. 


1 




Inside the Turret on the Hill above 


Wi 




A solo, LuiGi and his Mother en- 


v 




tering. 


K 


v^ffl^ 


Mother. If there blew wind, you'd 


8 




hear a long sigh, easing 
The utmost heaviness of music's 


m 




heart. 


M 


^» 


Luigi. Here in the archway? 


w 




Mother. Oh, no, no — in farther, 
Where the echo is made, on the ridge. 


H 


^Im 


Luigi. Here surely, then. 


» 




How plain the tap of my heel as I 


M 




leaped up! 
Hark — "Lucius Junius!" The very 

ghost of a voice 
Whose body is caught and kept by 

. . . what are those? 
Mere withered wallflowers, waving 

overhead ? 
They seem an elvish group with thin 

bleached hair 
That lean out of their topmost 

fortress — look 






And listen, mountain men, to what we 


^m 




say. 


n 




74 


1 




^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 



Hand under chin of each grave 

earthy face. 
Up and show faces all of you ! — "All 

of you!" 
That 's the king dwarf with the scar- 
let comb ; old Franz, 
Come down and meet your fate? 

Hark— "Meet your fate!" 
Mother. Let him not meet it, my 

Luigi — do not 
Go to his City ! Putting crime aside, 
Half of these ills of Italy are 

feigned : 
Your Pellicos and writers for effect, 
Write for effect. 

Luigi, Hush! Say A writes, 

and B. 
Mother. These A's and B's write 

for effect, I say. 
Then, evil is in its nature loud, while 

good 
Is silent ; you hear each petty injury. 
None of his virtues ; he is old beside. 
Quiet and kind, and densely stupid. 

Why 

Do A and B kill not him themselves.'* 

Luigi. They teach 

Others to kill him — me — and, if I fail, 

Others to succeed ; now, if A tried and 

failed. 

75 



I could not teach that: mine's the 

lesser task, 
Mother, they visit night by- 
night . . . 
Mother. — ^You, Luigi? 

Ah, will you let me tell you what you 

are? 
Luigi. Why not? Oh, the one 

thing you fear to hint. 
You may assure yourself I say and 

say 
Ever to myself ! At times — ^nay, even 

as now 
We sit — I think my mind is touched, 

suspect 
All is not sound : but is not knowing 

that, 
What constitutes one sane or other- 
wise? 
I know I am thus— so, all is right 

again. 
I laugh at myself as through the 

town I walk. 
And see men merry as if no Italy 
Were suffering; then I ponder — "I 

am rich. 
Young, healthy ; why should this fact 

trouble me. 
More than it troubles these?" But it 

does trouble. 

76 



tyr^^M 



No, trouble 's a bad word : for as I 

walk 
There 's springing and melody and 

giddiness, 
And old quaint turns and passages of 

my youth, 
Dreams long forgotten, Kttle in 

themselves, 
Return to me — ^whatever may amuse 

me: 
And earth seems in a truce with me, 

and heaven 
Accords with me, all things suspend 

their strife. 
The very cicala laughs "There goes 

he, and there! 
Feast him, the time is short ; he is on 

his way 
For the world's sake: feast him this 

once, our friend !" 
And in return for all this, I can trip 
Cheerfully up the scaffold-steps. I go 
This evening, mother! 

Mother. But mistrust yourself — 
Mistrust the judgment you pro- 
nounce on him! 
Luigi, Oh, there I feel — am sure 

that I am right! 
Mother. Mistrust your judgment 

then, of the mere means 

77 



To this wild enterprise : say, you are 

right — 
How should one in your state e'er | 

bring to pass 
What would require a cool head, a 

cool heart. 
And a calm hand? You never will 

escape. 
Luigi. Escape? To even wish 

that, would spoil all. 
The dying is best part of it. Too 

much 
Have I enjoyed these fifteen years of 

mine. 
To leave myself excuse for longer 

life: 
Was not life pressed down, running 

o'er with joy. 
That I might finish with it ere my 

fellows 
Who, sparelier feasted, make a longer 

stay? 
I was put at the board-head, helped 

to all 
At first ; I rise up happy and content. 
God must be glad one loves his world 

so much, 
lean give news of earth to all the dead 
Who ask me — last year's sunsets, 

and great stars 

78 



Which had a right to come first and 

see ebb 
The crimson wave that drifts the sun 

away — 
Those crescent moons with notched 

and burning rims 
That strengthened into sharp lire, 

and there stood, 
Impatient of the azure — and that 

day 
In March, a double rainbow stopped 

the storm — 
May's warm, slow, yellow moonlit 

summer nights — 
Gone are they, but I have them in 

my soul ! 
Mother, (He will not go !) 
Luigi, You smile at me ? 'T is 

true — 
Voluptuousness, grotesqueness, ghast- 

liness, 
Environ my devotedness as quaintly 
As round about some antique altar 

wreathe 
The rose festoons, goats' horns, and 

oxen's skulls. 
Mother. See now: you reach the 

city, you must cross 
His threshold — how? 

Luigi. Oh, that's if we conspired ! 
79 



kui 



Then would come pains in plenty, as 
you guess — 

But guess not how the qualities most 
fit 

For such an office, qualities I have, 

Would little stead me, otherwise em- 
ployed, 

Yet prove of rarest merit only here. 

Every one knows for what his ex- 
cellence 

Will serve, but no one ever will con- 
sider 

For what his worse defect might 
serve: and yet 

Have you not seen me range our cop- 
pice yonder 

In search of a distorted ash? — I find 

The wry spoilt branch a natural per- 
fect bow. 

Fancy the thrice-sage, thrice-precau- 
tioned man 

Arriving at the palace on my errand ! 

No, no! I have a handsome dress 
packed up — 

White satin here, to set off my black 
hair; 

In I shall march — for you may watch 
your life out 

Behind thick walls, make friends 
there to betray you ; 

80 



HKM^fei^^^^^^SMJ 




^^^^^S3^^^^^^^ 


m 






W^^ 


More than one man spoils everythingc 


uM 




March straight — 


^^ 




Only, no clumsy knife to fumble for, 


^^ 




Take the great gate, and walk (not 


^^ 


ItWa'^ 


saunter) on 


^^m 


^'CvCv 


Through guards and guards — I 


^M 




have rehearsed it all 


^^ 




Inside the turret here a hundred 


^^m 




times. 


^^ 


lcV'^5^* 


Don't ask the way of whom you meet, 
observe ! 


m 




But where they cluster thickliest is 


^^ 




the door 


^ml 


^u&V^ 


Of doors ; they '11 let you pass — 


^M 


LNiy<i^^ 


they'll never blab 


^^ 




Each to the other, he knows not the 


^^ 




favorite. 


^W^ 




Whence he is bound and what 's his 


^^ 


i 


business now. 
Walk in — straight up to him; you 


M 


^^Ity' 


have no knife : 


^^ 


^i^rw',^ 


Be prompt, how should he scream? 


'^mi 




Then, out with you ! 


^m 




Italy, Italy, my Italy! 


^^ 




You 're free, you 're free ! mother, 


^^ 




I could dream 


^^ 


nBvf>^ 


They got about me — Andrea from his 


^M 




exile. 


^^ 


Pier from his dungeon, Gaultier from 


^M 




his grave! 

81 


m 


^£^ 


' ^crv^^^^^fr^^B^vzi^''^5t^w^r^^^^s>^^^A^^ 


m 



Mother. Well, you shall go. Yet 

seems this patriotism 
The easiest virtue for a selfish man 
To acquire: he loves himself — and 

next, the world — 
If he must love beyond — ^but naught 

between : 
As a short-sighted man sees naught 

midway 
His body and the sun above. But 

you 
Are my adored Luigi, ever obedient 
To my least wish, and running o'er 

with love: 
I could not call you cruel or unkind. 
Once more, your ground for killing 

him! — then go! 
Luigi. Now do you try me, or 

make sport of me? 
How first the Austrians got these 

provinces . . . 
(If that is all, I'll satisfy you soon) 
— Never by conquest but by cunning, 

for 
That treaty whereby . . . 

Mother. Well? 

Luigi. (Sure, he's arrived. 

The tell-tale cuckoo : spring's his con- 
fidant. 
And he lets out her April purposes !) 

82 



Or ... • better go at once to modern 

time. 
He has • . . they have ... in fact, 

I understand 
But can't restate the matter; that's 

my boast : 
Others could reason it out to you, 

and prove 
Things they have made me feel. 

Mother. Why go to-night? 

Morn's for adventure. Jupiter is 

now 
A morning-star. I cannot hear you, 

Luigi ! 
Luigi, "I am the bright and 

morning-star," saith God — 
And, "To such an one I give the 

morning-star." 
The gift of the morning-star ! Have 

I God's gift 
Of the morning-star? 

Mother. Chiara will love to see 
That Jupiter an evening-star next 

June. 
Luigi. True, mother. Well for 

those who live through June ! 
Great noontides, thunder-storms, all 

glaring pomps 
That triumph at the heels of June the 

god 



iuJm 




Leading his revel through our leafy 

world. 
Yes, Chiara will be here. 

Mother. In June : remember. 

Yourself appointed that month for 
her coming. 
LuigL Was that low noise the 

echo ? 
Mother. The night-wind. 

She must be grown — ^with her blue 

eyes upturned 
As if life were one long and sweet 

surprise : 
In June she comes. 

Luigi. We were to see together 
The Titian at Treviso. There, 
again ! 

\From without is heard the voice of 
PippA, singing — 

A king lived long ago. 

In the morning of the world, 

When earth was nigher heaven 

than now; 
And the hinges lochs curled. 
Disparting o'er a forehead full 
As the milk-white space Hwixt horn 



and horn 



84 



Of some sacrificial hull — 
Only calm as a habe new-'bom: 
For he was got to a sleepy moody 
So safe from all decrepitude. 
Age with its bane, so sure gone by, 
(The gods so loved him while he 

dreamed) 
That, having lived thus long, there 

seemed 
No need the king should ever die. 




Luigi. No need that sort of king 
should ever die ! 



Among the rocks his city was: 
Before his palace, in the sun, 
He sat to see his people pass. 
And judge them every one 
From its threshold of smooth stone. 
They haled him manya valley-thief 
Caught in the sheep-pens, robber- 
chief 
Swarthy and shameless, beggar- 

cheat. 
Spy-prowler, or rough pirate 

found 
On the sea-sand left aground; 
And sometimes clung about his feet. 
With bleeding Up, and burnmg 
cheek, 

85 



A woman, bitterest wrong to speak 
Of one with sullen thickset brows: 
And sometimes from the prison- 
house 
The angry priests a pale wretch 

brought. 
Who through some chink had 

pushed and pressed 
On knees and elbows, belly and 

breast. 
Worm-like into the temple, — 

caught 
He was by the very god. 
Who ever in the darkness strode 
Backward and forward, keeping 

watch 
O'er his brazen bowls, such rogues 

to catch! 
These, all and every one. 
The king judged, sitting in the 

sun. 

Luigi. That king should still judge 
sitting in the sun ! 



His councillors, on left and right. 
Looked anxious up, — but no sur- 
prise 
Disturbed the king's old smili/ng 
eyes 

86 











Where the very blue had turned to 




white. 






^Tis said, a Python scared one day 






The breathless city, till he came. 






With forky tongue and eyes on 






■flame. 


y^^Kr^ 




Where the old king sat to judge 
alway; 





Girt with a crown of berries rare 
Which the god will hardly give to 

wear 
To the maiden who svngeth, danc- 
ing bare 
In the altar-smoke by the pine- 
torch lights 
At his wondrous forest rites, — 
Seeing this, he did not dare 
Approach that threshold in the 

sun. 
Assault the old king smiling there* 
Such grace had kings when the 
world begun! 

[PippA passes. 

Luigi. And such grace have they, 
now that the world ends ! 
The Python at the city, on the 

throne, 
And brave men, God would crown for 
slaying him, 
87 



Lurk in by-corners lest they fall his 

prey- 
Are crowns yet to be won in this late 

time, 
Which weakness makes me hesitate to 

reach? 
'T is God's voice calls : how could I 

stay? Farewell! 

Talk hy the way, while Pippa is pass- 
ing from the Turret to the Bish- 
op^s Brother^s House^ close to the 
Duomo S. Maria. Poor Girls sit- 
ting on the steps. 

1st Girl. There goes a swallow 
to Venice — the stout seafarer ! 

Seeing those birds fly, makes one wish 
for wings. 

Let us all wish ; you wish first ! 

2d Girl I? This 

sunset to finish. 
Sd Girl That old — somebody I 
know. 

Grayer and older than my grand- 
father, 

To give me the same treat he gave 
last week — 

Feeding me on his knee with fig- 
peckers, 



Lampreys and red Breganze wine, 

and mumbling 
The while some folly about how well 

I fare. 
Let sit and eat my supper quietly : 
Since had he not himself been late 

this morning 
Detained at — ^never mind where — had 

he not . . • 
"Eh, baggage, had I not !" — 

2d Girl. How she 

can lie ! 
Sd Girl. Look there — by the 

nails ! 
2d Girl. What makes your fin- 
gers red? 
Sd Girl. Dipping them into wine 

to write bad words with 
On the bright table : how he laughed ! 
1st Girl. My turn. 

Spring 's come and summer 's com- 
ing. I would wear 
A long loose gown, down to the feet 

and hands. 
With plaits here, close about the 

throat, all day; 
And all night lie, the cool long 

nights, in bed; 
And have new milk to drink, apples 

to eat, 

89 



Deuzans and junetings, leather-coats 

• . • ah, I should say, 
This Is away in the fields — miles ! 

3d Girl. Say at once 

You 'd be at home : she 'd always be 

at home ! 
Now comes the story of the farm 

among 
The cherry orchards, and how April 

snowed 
White blossoms on her as she ran. 

Why, fool, 
They 've rubbed the chalk-mark out, 

how tall you were. 
Twisted your starling's neck, broken 

his cage, 
Made a dung-hill of your garden ! 

1st Girl. They destroy 

My garden since I left them? well — 

perhaps 
I would have done so : so I hope they 

have! 
A fig-tree curled out of our cottage 

wall; 
They called it mine, I have forgotten 

why. 
It must have been there long ere I 

was born : 
Cric — eric — I think I hear the wasps 

overhead 

90 



Pricking the papers strung to flutter 

there 
And keep off birds in fruit-time— 

coarse, long papers, 
And the wasps eat them, prick them 

through and through. 
3d Girl — How her mouth twitches ! 

Where was I? — ^before 
She broke in with her wishes and long 

gowns 
And wasps — would I be such a fool ! 

— Oh, here ! 
This is my way : I answer every one 
Who asks me why I make so much of 

him — 
(If you say, "you love him'' — 

straight "he'll not be 

gulled!") 
"He that seduced me when I was a 

girl 
Thus high — had eyes like yours, or 

hair like yours. 
Brown, red, white" — as the case may 

be: that pleases! 
See how that beetle burnishes in the 

path! 
There sparkles he along the dust: 

and, there — 
Your journey to that maize- tuft 

spoiled at least! 

91 



1st Girl. When I was young, they 

said if you killed one 
Of those sunshiny beetles, that his 

friend 
Up there, would shine no more that 

day nor next. 
2d Girl, When you were young? 

Nor areyou young, that's true. 
How your plump arms, that were, 

have dropped away! 
Why, I can span them. Cecco beats 

you still? 
No matter, so you keep your curious 

hair. 
I wish they 'd find a way to dye our 

hair 
Your color — any lighter tint, in- 
deed. 
Than black: the men say they are 

sick of black. 
Black eyes, black hair ! 

4ith Girl. Sick of yours, like 

enough. 
Do you pretend you ever tasted 

lampreys 
And ortolans ? Giovita, of the palace. 
Engaged (but there's no trusting 

him) to slice me 
Polenta with a knife that had cut up 
An ortolan. 

92 



2d Girl. Why, there! Is not that 
Pippa 
We are to talk to, under the window 

— quick ! — 
Where the Hghts are? 

1st Girl. That she? No, or she 
would sing, 
For the Intendant said . . , 

Sd Girl. Oh, you sing first! 

Then, if she listens and comes close 

. . . I'll tell you— 
Sing that song the young English 

noble made, 
Who took you for the purest of the 

pure. 
And meant to leave the world for 
you — what fun! 
2d Girl. [Sings.] 

You^ll love me yet! — and I can tarry 
Your love's protracted growing: 

June reared that hunch of -flowers 
you carry. 
From seeds of April's sowing. 

I plant a heart ful now: some seed 

At least is sure to strike. 
And yield — what you'll not pluck 
indeed. 

Not love, but, may be, like. 

93 



You'll look at least on lovers remains, 

A grave's one violet: 
Your look? — that pays a thousand 
pains. 

What's death? You'll love me yet! 

Sd Girl. [Ta Pippa, who ap- 
proaches.'\ Oh, you may come closer 
— ^we shall not eat you! Why, you 
seem the very person that the great 
rich handsome Englishman has fallen 
so violently in love with. FU tell you 
all about it. 



94 



IV. NIGHT, 

Inside the Palace hy the Duomo. 
MoNsiGNOR dismissing his Attend- 
ants. 

Monsignor, Thanks, friends, 
many thanks ! I chiefly desire life 
now, that I may recompense every 
one of you. Most I know something 
of already. What, a repast pre- 
pared? Benedicto benedicatur • • . 
ugh, ugh! Where was I? Oh, as 
you were remarking, Ugo, the 
weather is mild, very unlike winter 
weather: but I am a Sicilian, 
you know, and shiver in your Julys 
here. To be sure, when 't was full 
summer at Messina, as we priests 
used to cross in procession the great 
square on Assumption Day, you 
might see our thickest yellow tapers 
twist suddenly in two, each like a 
falling star, or sink down on them- 
selves in a gore of wax. But go, my 
friends, but go ! \_To the Intend- 
ant.] Not you, Ugo! \_The others 

95 








leave the apartment. 'I I have long 
wanted to converse with you, Ugo. 

Intendant. Uguccio — 

Mon, . . . 'guccio Stefani, 
man! of Ascoli, Fermo and Fossom- 
bruno; — ^what I do need instructmg 
about, are these accounts of your 
administration of my poor brother's 
aifairs. Ugh! I shall never get 
through a third part of your ac- 
counts ; take some of these dainties 
before we attempt it, however. Are 
you bashful to that degree? For me, 
a crust and water suffice. 

Inten. Do you choose this espe- 
cial night to question me? 

Mon. This night, Ugo. You 
have managed my late brother's af- 
fairs since the death of our elder 
brother : fourteen years and a month, 
all but three days. On the third of 
December, I find him . . . 

Inten. If you have so intimate an 
acquaintance with your brother's af- 
fairs, you will be tender of turning 
so far back: they will hardly bear 
looking into, so far back. 

Mon. Ay, ay, ugh, ugh — nothing 
but disappointments here below! I 
remark a considerable payment made 

96 



to yourself on this Third of Decem- 
ber. Talk of disappointments! 
There was a young fellow here, 
Jules, a foreign sculptor, I did my 
utmost to advance, that the Church 
might be a gainer by us both : he was 
going on hopefully enough, and of a 
sudden he notifies to me some mar- 
velous change that has happened in 
his notions of Art. Here 's his let- 
ter: "He never had a clearly con- 
ceived Ideal within his brain till to- 
day. Yet since his hand could man- 
age a chisel, he has practised express- 
ing other men's Ideals; and, in the 
very perfection he has attained to, he 
foresees an ultimate failure: his un- 
conscious hand will pursue its pre- 
scribed course of old years, and will 
reproduce with a fatal expertness the 
ancient types, let the novel one ap- 
pear never so palpably to his spirit. 
There is but one method of escape: 
confiding the virgin type to as chaste 
a hand, he will turn painter instead 
of sculptor, and paint, not carve, its 
characteristics" — strike out, I dare 
say, a school like Correggio: how 
think you, Ugo? 

97 



Inten, Is Correggio a painter? 

Mon. Foolish Jules! and yet, 
after all, why foolish? He may — 
probably will — fail egregiously; but 
if there should arise a new painter, 
will it not be in some such way, by a 
poet now, or a musician (spirits who 
have conceived and perfected an Ideal 
through some other channel), trans- 
ferring it to this, and escaping our 
conventional roads by pure igno- 
rance of them; eh, Ugo? If you 
have no appetite, talk at least, Ugo ! 

Inten. Sir, I can submit no lon- 
ger to this course of yours. First, 
you select the group of which I 
formed one — next you thin it gradu- 
ally — always retaining me with your 
smile — and so do you proceed till 
you have fairly got me alone with 
you between four stone walls. And 
now then? Let this farce, this chat- 
ter end now : what is it you want with 
me? 

Mon. Ugo ! 

Inten. From the instant you ar- 
rived, I felt your smile on me as you 
questioned me about this and the 
other article in those papers — ^why 
your brother should have given me 



this villa, that podere — and your nod 
at the end meant — what? 

Mon. Possibly that I wished for 
no loud talk here. If once you set 
me coughing, Ugo ! — 

Inten. I have your brother's hand 
and seal to all I possess : now ask me 
what for! what service I did him — 
ask me ! 

Mon. I would better not : I should 
rip up old disgraces, let out my poor 
brother's weaknesses. By the way, 
Maffeo of ForK (which, I forget to 
observe, is your true name), was the 
interdict ever taken otf you for rob- 
bing that church at Cesena.? 

Inten. No, nor needs be : for when 
I murdered your brother's friend, 
Pasquale, for him . . . 

Mon, Ah, he employed you in 
that business, did he.'^ Well, I must 
let you keep, as you say, this villa 
and that podere^ for fear the world 
should find out my relations were of 
so indifferent a stamp.? Maffeo, my 
family is the oldest in Messina, and 
century after century have my pro- 
genitors gone on polluting themselves 
with every wickedness under heaven: 
my own father . . rest his soul ! 
99 



— I have, I know, a chapel to support 
that it msiy rest: my dear two dead 
brothers were — what you know tol- 
erably well; I, the youngest, might 
have rivalled them in vice, if not in 
wealth : but from my boyhood I came 
out from among them, and so am not 
partaker of their plagues. My glory 
springs from another source; or if 
from this, by contrast only — for I, 
the bishop, am the brother of your 
employers, Ugo. I hope to repair 
some of their wrong, however ; so far 
as my brother's ill-gotten treasure 
reverts to me, I can stop the conse- 
quences of his crime: and not one 
soldo shall escape me. Maifeo, the 
sword we quiet men spurn away, you 
shrewd knaves pick up and commit 
murders with ; what opportunities the 
virtuous forego, the villainous seize. 
Because, to pleasure myself apart 
from other considerations, my food 
would be millet-cake, my dress sack- 
cloth, and my couch straw — am I 
therefore to let you, the off-scouring 
of the earth, seduce the poor and 
ignorant by appropriating a pomp 
these will be sure to think lessens the 
abominations so unaccountably and 

100 



exclusively associated with it? Must 
I let villas and poderi go to you, a m 
murderer and thief, that you may be- ^Lm:i. 
get by means of them other murder- vT^M 
ers and thieves? No — ^if my cough 
would but allow me to speak! 

Inten, What am I to expect? 
You are going to punish me? 

Mon. Must punish you, Maffeo. 
1 cannot afford to cast away a 
chance. I have whole centuries of 
sin to redeem, and only a month or 
two of hf e to do it in. How should 
I dare to say . . • 

Inten. 'Torgive us our tres- 
passes?" 

Mon, My friend, it is because I 
avow myself a very worm, sinful be- 
yond measure, that I reject a hne of 
conduct you would applaud perhaps. 
Shall I proceed, as it were, a-pardon- 
ing? — I? — who have no symptom of 
reason to assume that aught less than 
my strenuousest efforts will keep my- 
self out of mortal sin, much less keep 
others out. No: I do trespass, but 
will not double that by allowing you 
to trespass. 

Inten. And suppose the villas are 
not your brother's to give, nor yours 

101 



to take? Oh, you are hasty enough 
just now ! 

Mon. 1, 2 — No. 3 — ay, can you 
lead the substance of a letter, No. 3, 
I have received from Rome? It is 
precisely on the ground there men- 
tioned, of the suspicion I have that 
a certain child of my late elder 
brother, who would have succeeded to 
his estates, was murdered in infancy 
by you, Maffeo, at the instigation of 
my late younger brother — that the 
Pontiff enjoins on me not merely the 
bringing that Maffeo to condign 
punishment, but the taking all pains, 
as guardian of the infant's heritage 
for the Church, to recover it parcel 
by parcel, howsoever, whensoever, 
and wheresoever. While you are now 
gnawing those fingers, the police are 
engaged in sealing up your papers, 
Maffeo, and the mere raising my 
voice brings my people from the next 
room to dispose of yourself. But I 
want you to confess quietly, and save 
me raising my voice. Why, man, do 
I not know the old story? The heir 
between the succeeding heir, and this 
heir's ruffianly instrument, and their 
complot's effect, and the life of fear 
102 



and bribes and ominous smiling si- 
lence? Did you throttle or stab my 
brother's infant? Come now! 

Inten. So old a story, and tell it 
no better? When did such an instru- 
ment ever produce such an effect? 
Either the child smiles in his face ; or, 
most likely, he is not fool enough to 
put himself in the employer's power 
so thoroughly: the child is always 
ready to produce — as you say — ^how- 
soever, wheresoever, and whensoever. 

Mon. Liar ! 

Inten. Strike me? Ah, so might 
a father chastise ! I shall sleep sound- 
ly to-night at least, though the gal- 
lows await me to-morrow; for what 
a life did I lead ! Carlo of Cesena re- 
minds me of his connivance, every 
time I pay his annuity; which hap- 
pens commonly thrice a year. If I 
remonstrate, he will confess all to 
the good bishop — you! 

Mon. I see through the trick., 
caitiff! I would you spoke the truth 
for once. All shall be sifted, how- 
ever — seven times sifted. 

Inten. And how my absurd riches 
encumbered me! I dared not lay 
claim to above half my possessions. 

103 



Let me but once unbosom myself, glo- 
rify Heaven, and die ! 

Sir, you are no brutal, dastardly 
idiot like your brother I frightened 
to death: let us understand one 
another. Sir, I will make away with 
her for you — the girl — here close at 
hand ; not the stupid, obvious kind of 
killing ; do not speak — know nothing 
of her nor of me ! I see her every day 
— saw her this morning: of course 
there is to be no killing ; but at Rome 
the courtesans perish off every three 
years, and I can entice her thither — 
have indeed begun operations al- 
ready. There's a certain lusty, blue- 
eyed, florid-complexioned English 
knave, I and the Police employ occa- 
sionally. You assent, I perceive — 
no, that 's not it — assent I do not 
say — ^but you will let me convert my 
present havings and holdings into 
cash, and giye me time to cross the 
Alps.^ 'T is but a little black-eyed, 
pretty singing Felippa, gay silk- 
winding girl. I have kept her out of 
harm's way up to this present ; for I 
always intended to make your life a 
plague to you with her. 'T is as well 
settled once and forever. Some 

104 



I 



women I have procured will pass 
Bluphocks, my handsome scoundrel, 
off for somebody; and once Pippa 
entangled! — you conceive? Through 
her singing? Is it a bargain? 

[^From without is heard the voice of 
P1PPA5 singing — 

Overhead the tree-tops meet. 
Flowers and grass spring 'neath 

one's feet; 
There was naught above me^ 

naught below^ 
My childhood had not learned to 

know: 
For, what are the voices of birds 
— Ay, and of beasts, — but words, 

our words, 
Only so much more sweet? 
The knowledge of that with my 

life begun. 
But I had so near made out the 

sun. 
And counted your stars, the seven 

and one. 
Like the fingers of my hand: 
Nay, I could all but understand 
Wherefore through heaven the 

white moon ranges: 

105 



A7id just when out of her soft fifty 

changes 
No unfamiliar face might overlook 

me — 
Suddenly God took me. 

[PippA passes. 

Mon. [Springing up.^ My people 
— one and all — all — within there! 
Gag this villain — tie him hand and 
foot! He dares ... I know not 
half he dares — ^but remove him — 
quick ! Miserere mei, Domine! Quick, 
I say! 

FivvA^sChamber again. She enters it. 

The be3 with his comb, 

The mouse at her dray. 

The grub in his tomb, 

While winter away ; 

But the fire-fly and hedge-shrew and 

lob-worm, I pray. 
How fare they? 
Ha, ha, thanks for your counsel, my 

Zanze ! 
"Feast upon lampreys, quaff Bre- 

ganze" — 
The summer of life so easy to spend. 
And care for to-morrow so soon put 



away 



106 



But winter hastens at summer's end, 
And fire-fly, hedge-shrew, lob-worm, 

pray, 
How fare they? 
No bidding me then to . . . what 

did Zanze say? 
"Pare your nails pearlwise, get your 

small feet shoes 
More like" . . . (what said she?) 

— "and less like canoes !" 
How pert that girl was ! — ^would I be 

those pert 
Impudent staring women! It had 

done me, 
However, surely no such mighty hurt 
To learn his name who passed that 

jest upon me: 
No foreigner, that I can recollect. 
Came, as she says, a month since, to 

inspect 
Our silk-mills — none with blue eyes 

and thick rings 
Of raw-silk-colored hair, at all 

events. 
Well, if old Luca keep his good in- 
tents. 
We shall do better, see what next 

year brings ! 
I may buy shoes, my Zanze, not ap- 
pear 

107 





^^^^^^^^^ 


M 




More destitute than you perhaps next 


m 




year ! 


m 




Bluph . . . something! I had 


1^ 


caught the uncouth name 


^k 


V^^Vj^ 


But for Monsignor's people's sudden 


^w 




clatter 


j^w 


n^P^' 


Above us — bound to spoil such idle 


^M 


nIj^^^ 


chatter 


^^m 




As ours : it were indeed a serious mat- 


t^^ 


^ Tt!2j/ 


ter 


f^m 




If silly talk like ours should put to 


[^^ 


rl7s:»fjSr^ 


shame 


^w 




The pious man, the man devoid of 


^« 


i^^ 


blame, 
The . . . ah, but — ah, but, all the 


m 




same. 


^w 




No mere mortal has a right 


Wm 


k>W^ 


To carry that exalted air ; 


m^ 


Best people are not angels quite: 


^^ 




While — not the worst of people's 


^^ 




doings scare 


WM 




The devil ; so there 's that proud look 


^^ 


fc'^rvWf " /. 


to spare! 
Which is mere counsel to myself, 


m 




mind ! for 


^^ 




I have just been the holy Monsignor : 


i^ 


^vril 


And I was you, too, Luigi's gentle 


!^1 


iIi^-xjCv^ 


mother, 


^^ 


• J"^^^^ 


And you, too, Luigi! — how that 


^^ 


ra 


Luigi started 


^m 




108 


m 



p 


^^^^^^^^^ 


1 


M 


Out of the turret — doubtlessly de- 


m 


parted 
On some good errand or another, 


1 


f^ 


For he passed just now in a traveler's 


^^ 


trim, 


r^m 


m 


And the sullen company that prowled 
About his path, I noticed, scowled 


m 


m 


As if they had lost a prey in him. 
And I was Jules the sculptor's bride. 


m 


^W 


And I was Ottima beside. 


^M 


1 


And now what am I? — tired of fool- 
ing. 
Day for folly, night for schooling! 
New year's day is over and spent, 
111 or well, I must be content. 


1 


m 


Even my lily's asleep, I vow: 
Wake up — ^here's a friend I've 


m 


^M 


plucked you! 


^m 



Call this flower a heart's-ease now ! 
Something rare, let me instruct you, 
Is this, with petals triply swollen. 
Three times spotted, thrice the 

pollen ; 
While the leaves and parts that wit- 
ness 
Old proportions and their fitness. 
Here remain unchanged, unmoved 

now; 
Call this pampered thing improved 



now 



109 



Suppose there 's a king of the flowers 
And a girl-show held in his bowers — 
"Look ye, buds, this growth of 

ours," 
Says he, "Zanze from the Brenta, 
I have made her gorge polenta 
Till both cheeks are near as bouncing 
As her . . . name there 's no pro- 
nouncing ! 
See this heightened color too. 
For she swilled Breganze wine 
Till her nose turned deep carmine ; 
*T was but white when wild she grew. 
And only by this Zanze's eyes 
Of which we could not change the 

size. 
The magnitude of all achieved 
Otherwise, may be perceived." 



Oh what a drear dark close to my 
poor day! 

How could that red sun drop in that 
black cloud? 

Ah, Pippa, morning's rule is moved 
away, 

Dispensed with, never more to be al- 
lowed ! 

Day's turn is over, now arrives the 
night's. 

Oh, lark, be day's apostle 

110 



m 




^ 


M 




^ra 


w 


To mavis, merle and throstle, 


w 


^m 


Bid them their betters jostle 


^m 


^P 


From day and its delights ! 


'^S 


^S 


But at night, brother owlet, over the 


^M 


iK 


woods. 


^m 


^m 


Toll the world to thy chantry; 


^» 


^m 


Sing to the bats' sleek sisterhoods 


^S 


m 


Full complines with gallantry: 
Then, owls and bats. 


m 


^m 


Cowls and twats. 


^M 


^M 


Monks and nuns, in a cloister's 


^m 


^m 


moods. 


^m 


^m 


Adjourn to the oak-stump pantry ! 


^Bi 


m 


\_After she has begun to undress her- 
self. 


m 


m 


Now, one thing I should like to really 


^m 


know: 


^® 


^m 


How near I ever might approach all 


^M 


1 


these 
I only fancied being, this long day: 
— Approach, I mean, so as to touch 


i 


w 


them, so 
As to ... in some way . . . 


M 


^m 


move them — if you please, 


^m 


1 


Do good or evil to them some slight 

way. 
For instance, if I wind 
Silk tomorrow, my silk may bind 


1 


^M 


^Sitting on the bedside. 


^^ 


^m 


And border Ottima's cloak's hem. 


^ffl 


i 


111 


^P 


^^^^^^^^^^ 


8 



Ah me, and my important part with 
them, 

This morning's hymn half promised 
when I rose! 

True in some sense or other, I sup- 
pose. 

\_As she lies down. 

God bless me! I can pray no more 
to-night. 

No doubt, some way or other, hymns 
say right. 

All service ranks the same rmth 

God— 
With God, whose puppets, best 

and worst. 
Are we; there is no last nor first. 

IShe sleeps. 



112 



OCT 12 I90f 



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